


Five Birdies and a F---!

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9431309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: Five times Phryne and Jack don't fuck, and one time they do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know with this title. 
> 
> Ages ago whopooh prompted me with "But I don't want to fuck you", and in an effort to avoid thinking of The Great Orange Menace on Friday I decided that it was time to write notone but FIVE times they didn't fuck, and one time they did.

Phryne sipped her after-dinner champagne, half her attention on her host’s commentary on the estate’s recently completed renovations, and the rest scanning the room for a more interesting diversion. Charlie was a dear old thing, but exceptionally dull. Guy and Isabella were near the door, heads bent together and laughing; Phryne could say a lot about her cousin and his wife, not all of it positive, but there was no doubting they adored each other. 

Charlie had just turned his attentions to giving a detailed description of the heated indoor pool, Phryne wondering whether she could suggest they move the party there, when the butler entered.

“Our final guest has arrived,” he told Charlie, and Phryne did a double-take. She’d help draft the guest list herself, and everyone was present. Charlie thanked his butler, then turned to Phryne with a devilish smile. “Come help me greet him?” he asked.

Terribly curious now, Phryne nodded and followed her friend from the billiards room and towards the front door. The entryway was dimly lit, the mysterious guest no more than a shadow waiting patiently with his valise at his feet. 

It took far longer for Phryne to recognise him than she would ever admit, but when she did…

“Jack Robinson, you’ve missed dinner.”

“Apologies, Miss Fisher,” he said, removing his hat. “I arrived in London this afternoon, coming after you as you so politely requested, and found that once again you’d flitted off somewhere else entirely.”

“I got bored.”

“Yes, I can see that. Thankfully, half a dozen telegraphs later and a train journey I will spare you the details of and I caught up.”

“Guy?” Phryne asked.

“Yes,” Jack said wryly. “Apparently Mrs. Stanley put the fear of god into him.”

“More like the fear of Aunt Prudence.”

His grin was no more than an amused tilt of his lips. “Equally terrifying.”

Charlie coughed. “Unfortunately, given the renovations we have no spare guest rooms. You don’t mind sharing, do you Phryne?”

Phryne spun around to face him. “Charlie, you are an utter arse to keep this from me!”

“I’m… sorry?” he said tentatively, clearly unsure.

“Well, you will be. You can drag the guests out onto the moors yourself tomorrow morning, I’ll be otherwise occupied.”

And with that she hooked her arm around Jack’s and dragged him towards the stairs, feeling his suppressed laughter shiver through his body. At least she thought it was laughter; the press of him against her, the knowledge that he had come--to England at all and then all the way to Yorkshire just to see her sooner, the warm breath on her ear as he turned slightly as if to ask her a question… 

The tremor that coursed through _her_ had nothing to do with laughter.

It wasn’t until they were in her--their--bedroom that he kissed her.

“This is alright?” he asked quietly, the words brushing against her lips. “Me being here, I mean.”

She nodded, her nose bumping his, and tried to ignore the tears in her eyes. “Yes, Jack. This is very much more than alright.”

“Good,” he said, and she felt his smile in every inch of his body held against hers. “I’d hate to try getting a taxi this late at night.”

She laughed and turned away, intending to cross the room to regain her composure while she retrieved her…

“Shit.”

“What?”

She turned. “I didn’t bring my…”

He groaned.

“I was hardly expecting company, Jack, even if some of the most eligible bachelors in England are in attendance this weekend.”

She willed him to understand, and he did--his smile had changed again, contemplative and pleased.

“And if temptation had been too much to resist?”

“Why do you think I left it?” she replied, smiling. “I will admit that some of my youthful indiscretions were terribly indiscreet, but it’s been years since I’ve let myself get _that_ carried away.”

He caught her arm and pulled her in for another kiss.

“And,” she said when they broke apart, hands coming up to fiddle with his tie, “as disappointing as this oversight is, I can think of several interesting alternatives until we can get back to London.”

“So can I, Miss Fisher,” he grinned. “And we have all weekend to try them.”

\------

“If I never see your face again once we get off this boat, it will be too soon,” Phryne stormed, throwing her fur stole onto the bed. 

“Believe me, the feeling is entirely mutual,” he muttered back, rifling through the chest of drawers. 

It shouldn’t have stung, but of course it did. It was one thing for her to say something in the heat of the moment--whether or not she liked it, they both knew she was impulsive and occasionally spoke without thinking, but Jack was different. He was deliberate in his anger, and not so easily cajoled back into good humour. 

“Tell me, Jack, what egregious sin did I commit?”

“Aside from flirting at the dinner table with every man but the one who had escorted you there?”

“You know, this jealous streak is terribly unbecoming. I had no need to flirt with you--”

“Because I’m already tamed and obedient?” he interrupted.

“Get out.”

He held up the pyjamas he’d been looking for. 

“It’s a damned good thing I insisted on that second cabin,” he said. “I’ll be by in the morning for the rest of my things.”

“Oh no you bloody won’t,” she hissed, her accent nearly entirely Collingwood in her fury. “You don’t get to give in that easily.”

“Easily?” he scoffed. “We’ve been on this trip for a week and I think we’ve argued every night.”

“If you weren’t so bloody stubborn--”

“I’m stubborn?”

“And overly cautious.”

“You think everybody is overly cautious,” he shot back, “but why this time?”

“Jack, you literally travelled for a month on a boat just to come after me. And that is… amazing. But all that time since, everything we’ve seen and done, and you still haven’t told me how you feel, or asked for anything from me. This ridiculous display of jealousy is the most I’ve gotten from you since you arrived, and it’s not painting you in a good light.”

“Are we seriously arguing because I haven’t said I love you?” he asked, more shocked than anything else.

“No! Yes? I mean--oh god, I’ve really lost my marbles, haven’t I?”

And the absurdity that she--Phryne Fisher--was apparently reduced to picking a fight over something this ridiculous made her laugh until tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“Phryne?”

She looked up, seeing his concern.

“I have never… wanted someone to say it, Jack. Yet quite a few have. And now I’m here and I’m waiting and it’s _terrifying_. I’m scared that you won’t say it, or that you’ll say it and still leave, or you’ll say it and _I’ll_ leave, or… what if you say it and I say it and it works out and somehow I end up not _me_?”

“Do you think that would happen?” he asked cautiously.

“I don’t think either of us would want it to, but it doesn’t mean it couldn’t.”

He nodded. “And if I don’t say it?”

“Well, apparently we end up arguing like a couple of idiots.”

He simply tilted his head in agreement. 

“I love you,” he said. “I’m still sleeping in the other room.”

“Yes. I’m not entirely certain I could resist the urge to smother you with the pillow and call it an accident. I’m still mad about your behaviour.”

He smiled, a small, genuine smile, and she knew they would be alright.

“I’ll come by in the morning for breakfast.”

“Good,” Phryne said, feeling her own wide smile cross her face. “Good. Until breakfast, then.”

\------

She saw he was exhausted the moment he stepped through the parlour doors, though he greeted her with the same warm smile. She leapt up before he could kiss her hello, heading out of the room long enough to speak with Mr. Butler and retrieve the plate of sandwiches the man had set aside for Jack’s eventual presence.

“Bad day?” she asked as she returned to the parlour, trying not to smirk at the way his eyes lit up at the food. On this matter, at least, Jack was endearingly predictable.

“Not bad, just long,” he said, selecting a sandwich. “Two cases in court and a meeting about station budgets with the Chief Commissioner.”

“I can provide more interesting distractions than _that_ ,” she purred, dropping to the chaise and allowing her hand to rumple his hair. 

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, shedding the weight of the day. It lasted a minute, maybe two--the parlour was a sanctuary for both of them, so many moments shared between the walls. Eventually he shifted, tuning to look at her.

“I’m tired,” he admitted, as if it were some moral failing on his part. “I don’t think…”

“Why come here then?” she asked, her voice gentle.

She knew why. Of course she did. But she found that she wanted nothing more than for him to say it in as many words, to confess that she was his home, his place of comfort, and if that meant pushing just a little...

“Do you want me to leave?”

He was joking. She was fairly certain he was joking, at least, but his face was so still she could not be certain. 

“I didn’t say that, Jack.”

“I know.”

Definitely teasing then. She smiled.

“So why come here?” she repeated.

“Because it’s closer to the station.”

A raised eyebrow.

“Because of Mr. Butler’s sandwiches?” he tried, and she shook her head. “Because you’re here, Phryne, and this is a habit older than...us.”

And she had goaded him for this confession, but it left her breathless nonetheless--he had taken it and twisted it into something more, something neither of them had been looking for. Jack Robinson could very well be the end of her, if he was anything but what he was.

She leant over to kiss his cheek, then loosened his tie.

“Come to bed then, darling,” she said. “Mr. Butler will have laid out our pyjamas and is just warming some milk.” 

 

\------

“I’m bored.”

“You’re the one that insisted we attend this little soiree, Miss Fisher.”

“Yes, well, I was expecting The Phantom to have made a move by now.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t call him that.”

“The Phantom? Why not?”

“It’s feeding into his--or her--delusions of grandeur.”

“I see you’ve come around to my idea it may be a woman.”

“I never disagreed to begin with, Phryne.”

“The point remains: I’m bored. And you look divine in that suit, and there’s a dark little room just down the corridor--”

“No.”

“I’m not wearing anything beneath this dress.”

“Play fair, Miss Fisher.”

“I don’t see why I should. You were perfectly amenable to the idea last month at Aunt Prudence’s charity gala.”

“Yes, and then your Aunt Prudence walked _in_ on us at last month’s charity gala.”

“She’s not here tonight. And your bowtie is already in need of adjustment, so really I’d be doing you a favour.”

“Phryne--”

“Jack.”

“I’m quite certain your hand doesn’t belong there in a public venue.”

“My hand is resting on my lap, as it should be.”

“Your _other_ hand, Miss Fisher.”

“Oh, this one? Yes, I suppose you’re right. Perhaps I should remove it.”

“We have fifteen minutes, Miss Fisher, so I suggest you head to that ‘dark room’ rather quickly..” 

“Mmm. And what a delightful fifteen--Jack! Look! Over there. Is that--”

“The Phantom.”

“Adding to her delusions of grandeur?”

“Go around the back, Phryne. It seems you won’t be bored after all.”

\------

Phryne was soaking wet, her lithe frame shivering in the mid-winter chill. A missing necklace, an escaped convict, and a boathouse had led to this moment; Jack and his men had barely arrived in time. There’d been a blanket in the police motorcar, and Jack had wrapped her in his coat, but she was still cold. 

Making a decision without consulting her, Jack turned the motorcar towards his own home. She didn’t quibble as he led her up the small path, hair still plastered to her head and his arm drawn around her.

“It was nearest,” he said to her unasked question as they stepped inside, leading her to an armchair before lighting a fire in his fireplace. “I’ll go get you a towel.”

He came back to the parlour a few minutes later--she’d taken off most of her clothes and laid them by the fire, and had drawn an old afghan blanket around her shoulders. She stood compliantly as Jack dried her hair, tossing the towel aside and holding her tight when it was done.

“It’s been awhile since it’s been close like that,” she whispered, still trembling in the circle of his arms.

Not _just_ the cold then.

He pressed a kiss to her still-damp hair, ran his palm down her back. Her perfume had been replaced by a hint of saltwater, but she still smelled of Phryne; he breathed deeply, trying not to let her see how frightened he had been.

Eventually he sat back down in the armchair she’d vacated, and she slid onto his lap and held him close; neither one of them spoke as they watched the fire burn, flames licking across the logs, and they drifted off to sleep. 

\------

They’d barely made it through the door before he was tugging at her velvet skirt, until she was tugging at the bowtie. 

“Couldn’t you have waited until _after_ dinner to mention you weren’t wearing underwear?” he growled, nipping at her ear. “I didn’t end up tasting a damned thing.”

Her laughter became a gasp as his fingers found her sex, slightly rough against her sensitive flesh. She raised a leg over his hip, realised he was still dressed. Pushed the jacket off his shoulders, dragged him in by the braces for a frantic kiss. 

“You were in Sydney for a week!” she protested. “I had to resort to desperate measures.”

“You really, really didn’t,” he countered; she’d managed to get the braces and cumberbund off, half the buttons of his shirt undone, and she ground her hips against his hand until he groaned. “Upstairs.”

“Too old for a rut against the wall?” she teased.

“Mr. Butler is due back in the next few minutes and is under the delusion we’re at the theatre. As much as I would--and do--love to screw you against the wall or bend you over the dining table, not tonight.”

One of these days she was going to come on the force of his promises alone. She popped open another button on his shirt, exposing his beautiful neck, grazed her teeth over his carotid artery. 

“Christ, Phryne,” he cursed. “If we don’t get upstairs right now…”

“As unflappable as Mr. B is, we probably should,” she said, whimpering as he pulled his hand away. “I want you without interruptions.”

She grabbed his wrist, raising it to her mouth to lick his fingers clean, felt his pulse thundering beneath the delicate skin. Then she pulled him towards the stairs and into their bedroom, unfastening the tiny buttons on the dress; the moment they were inside the boudoir she dropped the gown, letting it pool at her feet. 

He stopped his own divestment to stare at her, awestruck as always; as much as she appreciated the sentiment, it was not getting her fucked.

“Hurry up Jack,” she scolded, stepping out of the pool of fabric and sprawling onto the edge of the bed. Raising one foot onto the covers and leaving the other to dangle, she stroked herself with deliberate fingers; when she was certain she had his complete attention, she pushed them inside herself and moaned.

He nearly tangled himself in his clothing as he tried to undress.

Stepping forward, he slid one finger alongside hers and pressed the front of her passage, his thumb just grazing her clit.

“More,” she demanded, half out of her mind with sensation already. “I want all of you.”

Jack chuckled, and nudged her hand out of the way.

“Have I mentioned lately I love this bed?” he asked, leaning over to whisper in her ear, his breath hot and sweet; she trembled, ached to have him inside her. “It’s perfect for fucking you while standing.”

He thrust forward to prove his point and she gasped; turnabout was fair play and she wet a finger and trailed it down his chest, across his stomach, skimmed the place they were joined, then up her own torso to tease the underside of her breast. 

“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered.

“So long as you fuck me before you go,” she replied.

They met in a rhythm that was frantic and deep and good, until they were both gasping and aware of nothing beyond the other’s touch. She bucked her hips, heard him groan, so close to climax…

Then she felt him still. 

“Shit, Phryne,” he said, breathing hard as he tried to hold on; his hips made small pulses against her, keeping them both just on the edge. “Your device?”

“Not in.”

“Shit.”

He shifted to withdraw, and Phryne grasped his hips and mewled.

“So close, just another minute,” she begged, pressing against him harder.

“I can’t--” he groaned as her inner muscles clenched against him. “I can’t hold on.”

“Then don’t. Come with me, darling.”

How the hell he could be balls deep and on the precipice of orgasm and still manage a dryly unamused look was beyond her.

“I highly doubt--” he was thrusting again, his fingers sliding between them to provide more stimulation to her clit, seemingly determined to send her over even as he quibbled, “--highly doubt that is a good idea.”

Phryne raised herself up on her elbows.

“It’s a brilliant idea,” she countered breathlessly, then dropped her head back and bit her lip. “Oh god, oh god, don’t stop, don’t--don’t--”

She came with a cry, the first wave around his cock and the next without, and her fingers scrabbled against his backside to pull him flush against her as his release hit her stomach.

“Fuck,” he said mildly, and Phryne looked up to him and smiled, the last remnants of her orgasm washing over her. 

“That was…”

“A really terrible idea,” Jack said, collapsing down beside her. 

“It was fun though.”

“It was _incredible_. But it was too close. Your device was--”

“Actually in place as agreed, yes. It was a game, Jack, but not Russian Roulette.”

He chuckled, sitting up, and Phryne followed suit; the slightly cool winter air chilled the sweat on her skin, and she moved to lie beneath the covers. Jack joined her, and she took the chance to trace shapes against his chest; beneath her fingers his heart was rapid but steady, and utterly hers.


End file.
